To Tell the Story
by Linneam
Summary: After thirteen years, Teddy wants- needs- to hear his parents' story, beginning to end. His godfather, on the other hand, is less than ready to revisit these memories. Poor summary, sorry.


**After watching the film last night, I needed to write something… I guess I needed a bit of closure. XP I enjoyed writing it. I'd just like to say that if you recognize something, it's probably J.K. Rowling's. And, being a shameless solicitor, if you enjoy this or if you're a LilyxJames fan, check out my other fics. **** Very Lily/James-centric. **

Thirteen. Thirteen bloody years, and it still felt like yesterday. Harry didn't see the Tonks' yard in front of him as he sat on their porch. He was still at Hogwarts, still looking at dear friends' bodies splayed out for the world to see, already bloodied and broken. Fred, Severus, and countless familiar faces... Even Colin Creevey… He'd only been sixteen, Harry remembered. He hadn't even had a chance to live yet.

Harry swore angrily to himself, his eyes slowly refocusing on the patchy green grass he'd been staring at while his thoughts took their toll. Behind him, the door creaked, and he turned around swiftly, his hand already on his wand… Even after a decade, some things never changed. There would always be constant vigilance.

"It's me," a boy's voice almost shouted, its pitch spiking slightly on the second word as any growing boy's would. "Can I talk to you?"

"Anytime, Teddy," Harry answered, forcing his mind- however briefly- from its painful reminiscing. One look at his godson, though, and the memories again snatched him away. He saw a sandy brown-headed man hugging the 'deranged' Sirius Black and a lilac-haired woman apologizing profusely- a picture was shouting in the background, of course. He could still hear his two very dear friends' laughter lighting up a dingy, haunted kitchen. Then he saw their corpses, their two adjacent cots in a destroyed dining hall… "You look just like your dad today."

"I know," the teen answered, his voice softening as he plopped heavily on the step next to Harry. "There was a picture of him in the Prophet today for the memorial. I figured if there was a day to look like him, this was it. I kept my mom's nose, though… Or at least the one she was using that day."

"It was a good choice." Without really thinking, he reached up and ruffled the boy's light-brown hair, to which he received the usual punch to his shoulder. "But what'd you need to talk to me about?"

"Can you tell me about the war? The battle?"

Harry's eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head. "Surely you've learned about it in school already. Or you could ask Nev-erm, Professor Longbottom. He was right in the middle of things too."

"But he's a _professor_," Teddy whined, looking thoroughly put out. "They never say anything interesting."

A wry smile crossed Harry's lips. "I'd be careful saying that. I've had a lot of interesting professors in my time, including your dad. He was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts had ever seen. And it's seen a fair few over the years."

"What was he like? Gran tells me about Mum all the time, but she says she didn't know him as well… They weren't married very long before it happened."

Harry pushed his fingers through his perpetually-messy black hair, sighing internally. He'd known the time would come when Teddy would question, but no matter how he'd tried, he still found himself very much unprepared. Before that evening, he'd only been asked bits and pieces, but at thirteen, he supposed his godson deserved the full story.

"Your dad was one of the best men I ever met. He was one of my dad's best friends, too, along with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Remus was brilliant; he's the one who taught me to produce a patronus and the only professor I knew who could take someone like- well, someone challenged in the spell department- and make them feel like the leader of a class.

"He was bitten by Fenrir Greyback when he was little. Said his father did something to offend him. He dealt with more adversity than most people even think of, and he handled it brilliantly. We had a bit of a fall out during the start of the war, but it was all forgotten before you were even born. He's the one who asked me to be your godfather. Your dad really loved you, Teddy. He was so sorry you never got to know him, but he wanted your world to be a better place. He would never have gone, otherwise."

The boy sat silent for a long moment, drinking in the information. Harry knew he'd heard much, if not all, of it before, but he understood. Teddy never had the privilege of meeting his father; he _needed_ that person to live inside him. Harry had done the same thing with James, slowly collecting data to fill in the man he would never truly know.

"I know," the younger man said quietly, his face hardened against tears he hadn't expected. "But he did go. He had to. Please tell me about the war. I know it's hard to talk about, but he died to stop the most evil wizard of all time, and the only things I know about it are the things in books or from other kids on the train. _No one_ wants to talk about it. But I need to know. Please."

Harry studied the teen silently for a moment, again taking in his thin, sandy-brown hair and his intensely grey eyes. Like it or not, Harry acknowledged, he was ready. It was time. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"The very beginning."

Sighing, the older man's hand ran again through his grey-flecked black hair. The beginning. The war- his entire life- all from the start… "There were two wars: one before I was born and one after. The first began with him- Voldemort. The second, well, I guess you could say it began with me…"

From those three sentences, an entire lifetime- hundreds of peoples' lifetimes- unveiled itself to a child, one who hadn't quite escaped the effects of the unnamable, power-hungry orphan who destroyed so many peoples' worlds. Beginning at the beginning and ending only at the end, Harry told the story- his story, his parents' story, Sirius' story, _Remus and Tonks' story_, and the story of _thousands _of individuals whose breath was stolen before they could tell it themselves. Again, faces flashed before his eyes, but instead of running, he spoke. For the first time since the war's end, Harry told their story, the heroes' story, so that Teddy would understand _why they died and how they'd _**succeeded** _in making a world in which he could live a happier life._


End file.
